


This Flight Tonight

by blue_morning



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Abuse of a minibar, Alternate Universe, Dean has a Fear of Flying, Dean/Cas Tropefest 5k Mid-Winter Challenge, Emergency Landing, Frottage, Hand Jobs, M/M, Recreational Drug Use, Sharing a Room
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-02
Updated: 2017-04-02
Packaged: 2018-10-13 21:08:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,997
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10521903
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blue_morning/pseuds/blue_morning
Summary: Dean is paralyzed. This can’t be happening. All around him, people are reaching for the air masks and putting them on. The dark-haired man is awake now and pushing a mask into Dean’s hand. He takes it automatically and tries to remember the flight attendant’s safety demo that he’d pretty much ignored. He stretches the elastic around the back of his head with shaking hands. The dark-haired man grabs the air line and tugs on it, and a stream of medicinal-tasting air fills Dean’s mouth.Dean feels the plane tilt forward.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I had so much fun writing this for the DeanCas Tropefest Mid-Winter 5k AU. A million thanks to Jojo and Muse for making it seamless and easy.
> 
> Thanks to the best betas ever: @VioletHaze and @ThePamelaOracle.
> 
> Title from _This Flight Tonight_ by Nazareth.

The plane lurches again, punctuating Dean Winchester’s enumeration of all the terrible life choices that have brought him to this moment.

Top of the list was deciding to go to the MedTech conference even though it relocated last-minute from Buffalo to Arizona, which meant this fucking five-hour flight from Philadelphia to Phoenix in a flying metal death tube instead of a leisurely half-day drive on the nice, safe ground in his Baby.

Coming in strong in second place is the beer he’d bought to calm his nerves as soon as the plane had reached cruising altitude that is now sitting heavy in his stomach, the first tendrils of indigestion twining up into his chest.

Tangential, but still contributing to his shitty mood, is the fact that it’s a week before Christmas and he still hasn’t bought any gifts. Nothing for his brother Sam, nothing for his mom, or for Charlie, though he found a Xena Warrior Princess poster online that pretty much begs to be put up in her office next to his. The New Age playlist that she’d made him for the flight that was supposed to calm his fear of flying is definitely not working. Seriously, pan pipes, the wind through the trees, and the random ringing of gongs are just feeding his anxiety. The sound of the waterfall just makes him want to pee.

Dean fumbles with his phone, changing to a rock playlist, and looks over at his seatmate. The plane is only three-quarters full, so no one is sitting between his aisle seat and the man in the window seat. He’s asleep, tousled dark head resting against the window. Dark lashes fanned out against tan skin. Scruff on chiseled jawline. Pink lips, slightly parted... _woah down boy_.

Dean had spoken briefly to him when they’d boarded, a quick hello when he’d wedged his carry-on into the overhead bin. The man had smiled, flashing amazingly blue eyes at Dean, said hello in a sinfully deep voice, and then gone back to reading a tattered paperback. To Dean’s dismay, he’d continued reading and hadn’t noticed the frequent looks Dean had given him, hoping to strike up a conversation. After that, Dean had white-knuckled the takeoff before ordering a beer at the first available opportunity.

Dean closes his eyes and tries to relax as the drums and bass of Green Day’s _Longview_ start up. The laptop with his presentation on the new software for tracking patient meds slides sideways on the tray table as the plane dips to the right again. He grabs it reflexively and puts it under the seat in front of him. The red-haired flight attendant, Meghan, hurries past Dean’s seat towards the front of the plane and the muted sounds of someone’s call button signal. _Yep, that beer was definitely not a good idea_.

The plane steadies and the cabin lights dim. Dean slips into an uneasy doze as _Kashmir_ unwinds through his earbuds.

 

************

Dean swims up to full consciousness just as the cabin lights come on. He glances at his watch and does a quick time-zone calculation. It’s only 9:30. Much too early for starting the descent into Phoenix. Before he can think up any other reasons that might explain why the lights are up, there’s a loud _pop_ and the air masks deploy, dangling in a group above the empty seat between Dean and the blue-eyed man.

_Oh god. OH GOD OH GOD OH GOD._

Dean is paralyzed. This can’t be happening. A sick feeling settles in his stomach. He feels hot and light-headed. All around him, people are reaching for the air masks and putting them on. The dark-haired man is awake now and pushing a mask into Dean’s hand. He takes it automatically and tries to remember the flight attendant’s safety demo that he’d pretty much ignored. He stretches the elastic around the back of his head with shaking hands. The dark-haired man grabs the air line and tugs on it, and a stream of medicinal-tasting air fills Dean’s mouth.

Dean feels the plane tilt forward. The earbuds are still in his ears, and a familiar guitar intro starts and _really?_ This Flight Tonight? _Really? Nazareth is going to be the soundtrack to his fiery death?_ The Scottish band sounds tinny in his ears:

Star light, star bright, you've got the lovin' that I like  
Turn this crazy bird around  
Should not have got on this flight tonight

_‘Should not have got on this flight tonight.’ Well if that isn’t the biggest fucking understatement of his life._

Dean’s breath is coming faster in the mask, his heart pounding.This isn’t happening. No, not to him. A feeling of unreality settles over him. _This is NOT how he’s going to die. Oh god, this is exactly how he’s going to die._ He clutches the armrest convulsively. He can hear the rasping of his own breath, harsh in his ears.

The PA crackles to life.

“Ladies and gentlemen, this is your captain speaking. We are experiencing a problem with cabin pressure and we’ve been instructed to divert to Albuquerque. More immediately, we need to take the plane down to a level where pressurization is not an issue. Sit tight and keep your air masks on.”

A few seats forward, on the other side of the aisle, Dean can see a mother trying to keep the air mask over the mouth of a crying toddler. He begins to hyperventilate.

“Hey.”

Dean’s head whips around, dislodging his ear buds. It’s his seat mate.

“It’s going to be OK.” The man’s voice is a little muffled by the air mask, but Dean can hear him. His hand closes over Dean’s on the armrest. “It is. I promise.” He turns and looks out of the window. “I can see Orion right now. It’s really bright from this altitude. Here, have a look.”

Desperate to think about anything other than plunging to a fiery death, Dean complies, leaning forward to peer out the window. The familiar shape of the constellation spread across the inky black sky is oddly comforting. With his eyes, Dean traces the stars from shoulder and knee to the belt. Beside him, the blue-eyed man leans closer and starts to talk to him. One part of Dean’s mind notes that he’s speaking softly like someone trying to soothe a skittish horse, but he’s too grateful for the distraction to feel affronted by it.

“Do you know the story of Orion?” the man asks through the thin plastic of the mask. Dean shakes his head, not trusting his voice, and not moving his hand either.

“Orion was a mighty and fearless hunter, but he was boastful, and he vowed to kill every animal on the Earth. Gaia, the goddess of the Earth and protector of the animals, was not at all happy at this and sent Scorpius, a scorpion, to kill Orion before he could harm the animals. Scorpius lay in wait in a grassy field and attacked Orion and stung him to death, but when he fell, Orion crushed Scorpius underneath him. As a reward for his bravery and for saving the lives of all of the animals, Gaia placed Scorpius in the night sky. Artemis, the goddess of the hunt, had a soft spot for Orion, and put him up in the heavens as well. Orion is only in the sky during the winter, but when spring comes, Scorpio rises, and chases Orion away.”

The plane continues to descend, rocking with occasional turbulence. Dean turns his sweaty hand over and tightens it on the other man’s, eyes closed, concentrating on getting his breathing under control. The sound of the plane’s landing gear engaging is the best thing Dean’s ever heard. Before long the familiar, if unsettling, bump means they’ve landed on the sweet, sweet ground. The pilot’s voice comes over the PA again as the plane taxis along a row of ground lights.

“Welcome to Albuquerque everyone. We’re going to get y’all off the plane as soon as possible and into the terminal. It looks like we’ll be staying overnight, so we’ll see about getting you folks hotel rooms. We’re going to start the ball rolling on getting another plane here as soon as we can. When we get to the terminal, please just bring whatever small bags you have with you off the plane. We’ll let you on later to retrieve any bags from the overhead bins.”

The plane comes to a halt and everyone applauds. When the seatbelt sign turns off, Dean stands in the aisle, meaning to wait for his seat-mate, but the dark-haired man pauses to let an elderly couple, the man lugging a pet carrier, in front of him and the press of passengers sweeps Dean off the plane. He heads for the men’s room where he splashes cold water on his face and tries to control the shaking from departing adrenaline.

The people from the plane are all corralled in the waiting area for the gate they came in on. Dean grabs a seat and shoots a text off to Sam, telling him what’s going on and asking him to tell Mom. He texts Charlie too, and sends an email to the contact at the conference website. He looks around and spies his seat mate, once again absorbed in his book. Dean walks over to him.

Unsure how to begin, Dean clears his throat and says, “Hey, Orion.” The man smiles and looks up.

“Cas, actually. Castiel Novak.”

“Dean Winchester.” Dean takes the man’s proffered hand for the second time that night. “Listen, thanks for back there. I was...”

“Not a good flyer.”

“Nope. Not at the best of times. And that was definitely not the best of times. Thanks for talking me down.” Dean takes the seat beside Cas.

“No problem.”

“Soooo,” Dean says, casting around for a subject to talk about, unwilling to waste this opening with those amazing blue eyes, “why are you heading for Phoenix? Vacation? Business? Going home?”

“What’s a nice boy like me doing in an emergency landing like this?” Cas asks, grinning. Dean can feel himself blushing, and rubs the back of his neck to try to hide it. It kind of does sound like a pickup line.

Cas apparently takes pity on him and answers. “I’m a writer. I’m doing a series of articles about mining and oil companies trying to litigate in order to get access to tribal lands.”

“Like the North Dakota pipeline?”

“Yeah, that’s one example. I’m meeting with some tribal elders and their lawyers in Phoenix and then going back with them to the White Mountain reservation to talk to some people and take some pictures. You?”

“I’m giving a presentation on some new software we designed at the MedTech conference at the Phoenix Airport Marriott. Or at least I’m supposed to be. Tomorrow. But who knows, now.”

Meghan and the blonde flight attendant are circulating through the seating area handing out bottles of water and tiny bags of pretzels, telling people that as soon as they know what’s going to happen, the pilot will make an announcement. Dean looks around. The elderly couple have let an equally elderly-looking shih tzhu out of the pet carrier and it’s sniffing at a delighted toddler. A mom and two teen girls have struck up a conversation with a kid who looks like he’s a university student and the four end up sitting on the floor with the younger girl dealing out playing cards. People are really remarkably OK considering their brush with death. Dean points this out to Cas, who scoffs at him.

“We weren’t in that much danger.”

“We almost died!” Dean says.

Cas sighs. “We didn’t almost die.”

Meghan chooses that moment to walk by, heading for the washrooms, talking on her cell.

“...yeah the outflow valve. It got stuck open and wouldn’t close, so basically it was like a hole in the side of the plane. Seriously. We had to get down to 8,000 feet in a hurry…” She passes out of earshot.

Dean’s pointed glare and outraged raised eyebrows are a virtual reaction gif.

“Well OK, we kinda almost died,” Cas offers with a grin.

Dean’s phone buzzes and he spends the next little while answering texts. One thing’s for sure, with all this practice, he’s never going to struggle with the spelling of Albuquerque ever again. By now it’s late, and the rest of the airport has emptied out. The food kiosks and car rental place are shuttered and dark. The pilot addresses the crowd. He’s working on getting everyone hotel rooms and as soon as that’s been sorted out, everyone will be allowed back on the plane to get their carry-on bags.

Beside Dean, Cas stretches and Dean’s attention is caught by the way Cas’s shirt tightens across his chest. Cas catches him looking and grins.

“I need to stretch my legs and grab a smoke. You wanna keep me company or stay here?”

Dean gets to his feet and follows Cas through the darkened airport, past a Christmas display of gingerbread houses. They walk out through the automatic doors and into the cool night air. Cas reaches into the pocket of his shirt and pulls out a small case and a lighter. A moment later there’s something between his lips and Dean can tell from the smell that it’s not a cigarette.

“You brought weed. On a commercial flight. Are you crazy?”

Cas waggles his eyebrows. “Probably. Hey, I haven’t been caught yet. You know, you only live once.” He drags on the joint, holding the smoke in, and offers it to Dean. _Well, why the fuck not?_

“Don’t remind me.” Dean grins and takes it and inhales deeply as he looks around. Across from the terminal the dark outline of a bluff is stark against the starry sky above. He’s still a bit weak with relief at being back on solid ground, so maybe that's why he starts to ramble. “Of all the flights to take today, it’s just my luck that I was on this one. I was pretty scared back there. I’m glad you were there. What’re the odds that you’d show up on the flight?”

Cas squints at him through the smoke and smiles. “The universe is funny that way. Sometimes you just are where you need to be.”

“Pffft. Fate.” Dean rolls his eyes.

“Well, I wouldn’t dismiss it out of hand.”

Five minutes later they’re back in the warmth of the airport and Dean is feeling a bit floaty and more relaxed than he’s been since before he got on the plane in the first place. The pilot is back at the gate talking over the microphone.

“Could you all please make two lines. The first line is for families and groups travelling together, the other one is for people travelling alone.” People get to their feet and arrange themselves into the two lines. “When it’s your turn to come up to the desk, we’re going to tell you which hotel you’ll be staying at and then we’re going to let you back on the plane to retrieve your carry-on luggage.”

They start with the families, and one by one, the groups get their stuff from the plane and head down the concourse to the exit. About halfway through the families, the pilot gets back on the mic and says that there were a limited number of hotel rooms available at such short notice, so the lone travellers are going to have to pair up. Dean looks over at Cas.

“Roomies?” he asks hopefully, and Cas smiles and says sure. Dean feels something flip in his stomach and suddenly he’s irrationally happy. _It’s just the weed_ , he tells himself. When it’s their turn to go onto the plane to get their luggage, it hits him again what a close thing it was. The plane looks eerie — deserted and creepy with all the air masks still dangling from the ceiling. He’s glad when they’re out of there and waiting with the other passengers for the taxis at the curb, a piece of paper with “Sheraton Albuquerque Airport Hotel” written on it. It’s a short ride to the hotel and the elderly couple with the shih tzu share their cab. Dean lugs the pet carrier up to the front desk for them while Cas helps with their bags. Finally it’s their turn. The tired night manager hands them their key cards and they go up to their room.

Dean opens the door and dumps his case on the bed closest to the window. He collapses beside it, lying on his back. _He could lie here forever_. His stomach growls. _Ok, maybe not forever_. “I’m starving. And I need a drink. Also, I am never getting on another plane again. Ever.”

“Yeah, until tomorrow.”

“Nope,” Dean says, popping the p. “Gonna rent a car and drive the rest of the way. On the ground. Like God intended us to travel.”

Cas flips through the leather binder beside the phone. “Bad news. It’s 2 a.m. Room service is closed. Not sure if we can even find a pizza place open this late.”

Dean sits up and looks around. “Dude, minibar. There’s got to be some snacks in there. And there’s booze, so there’s that.” He smiles at Cas.

They raid the little fridge and enjoy a meagre meal of Pringles, M&Ms, some fancy peanuts and a Toblerone bar, sitting cross-legged on Cas’s bed. Dean’s leaning back against the headboard working on a Heineken and Cas has an Amstel cradled in his hands. Dean’s feeling warm and weirdly happy. He pokes through the collection of little liquor bottles sitting on the bed between them that he’s liberated from the minibar.

“OK, for dessert. do you want...” he squints, “Jameson or Jack Daniels?”

“The hard stuff now?”

“Why not? We deserve it. We Cheated Death.”

Cas smirks.”I can hear the capital letters when you say it like that.”

“OK, you made fun of me so you don’t get to pick. I’m choosing now.” Dean unscrews the Jameson and drinks it down. He tosses the bourbon to Cas with a challenging look.

“Far be it from me to turn down dessert.” Cas toasts Dean with a smile, tips his head back and swallows the Jack. Dean watches his throat work and fights down the surge of interest he feels. They’re just two stranded travellers sharing a room. That’s all this is. Tell his dick that, though.

“My turn.” Cas opens a little bottle of vodka and knocks it back. His face is flushed and his teeth are white against his skin when he smiles. He chooses a bottle and leans forward to place it precisely in front of Dean with one eyebrow raised. Dean holds his gaze as he picks up the bottle. _Challenge accepted. Oh. Gin. Ew_. Dean unscrews the cap with a flourish and drinks it down, suppressing a shudder.

Cas is staring at Dean now, blue eyes intense. He licks his lips. Dean picks up the last two bottles on the bed. “Glenfiddich or Fireball: fancy scotch or cinnamon-flavored abomination.” He looks speculatively at Cas, who’s reclining now on his elbows, and Dean puts his hands behind his back. “Pick a hand.”

Cas sits up and leans forward, blue eyes and plush lips getting closer. He places his hand on Dean’s left bicep, and it’s like an electric jolt sliding up Dean’s arm leaving goosebumps in its wake. Dean pulls his left hand out from behind his back and opens his fist. Scotch. Cas crows delightedly and drinks the whiskey. Dean throws back the too-sweet cinnamon concoction and tries not to grimace. Cas leans closer, his gaze frankly appraising and Dean can feel the heat of the whiskey in his gut combining with the heat radiating from Cas. He feels loose and floaty, unmoored and open. He sways forward.

“You’ve got something on your...” Cas closes the distance and kisses Dean lightly, licking the slight sweetness from his lips. Dean kisses him back, harder, his hands coming up to tangle in Cas’s hair. The fear and adrenaline of the day are a fading memory now. He’s alive. He’s safe and on the ground and on a bed with the most attractive man he’s seen in ages. Dean groans and slides his hands up under Cas’s shirt, reveling in the smoothness of Cas’s skin beneath his hands, finding a nipple and rolling it hard. Cas curses and pushes Dean flat against the mattress, taking his mouth again with a predatory sound.

Dean feels caught in an upsurge of sensation, awash in the power and heat of Cas’s body on his. Once when he was a kid, playing in the surf on a beach in Maine, a wave swept in behind him and knocked him off his feet. He remembers the sensations, suspended underwater, the roar of the wave and the bright grains of mica sand glowing golden in the green water. He should have been scared, but wasn’t, just filled with a feeling of wonder and happiness so physical that he could barely contain it. He feels it again now, that dizzy euphoria, as Cas kisses him deeply.

Cas nips at at Dean’s lower lip. Dean gives as good as he gets, opening his mouth for Cas’s tongue, his hands roaming Cas’s body. They reluctantly pull away from each other to pull their shirts off, and when Cas pulls Dean’s body flush against him, Dean’s moan is lost in their heated kiss.

Dean can feel Cas’s erection pressing against his stomach, and he shifts slightly so that his own is trapped against Cas’s thigh. Dean gasps and rocks his hips forward, chasing the friction.

“Too many clothes,” Dean bites out. Cas swears and pulls away, stripping off his jeans and boxers as Dean does the same. Then they’re on each other again, grinding together. The sensations are even better now that there’s no fabric separating them, the feel of Cas’s cock against his is electric. Cas scrapes his teeth against Dean’s neck and the sensory input is almost too much. Dean grabs Cas’s jaw and guides him up to kiss him again, his breath stutters into Cas's mouth.

“Dean,” Cas groans. He reaches down between them to close his hand around both of their cocks and strokes upwards. Dean leans back to give him room to move his hand, closing his eyes as he savors the sensations. It’s not long before he’s spiralling higher, pleasure stretching thin inside him like a wire about to snap.

“God, like that, don’t stop, I’m going to come, Cas.” And he does, spilling over Cas’s hand. Cas doesn’t slow down. He follows Dean over seconds later. They both lie back, winded, on the pillows, grinning.

“That was...” Dean begins.

“Great.” Cas says, still breathing heavily. A few minutes later he rolls gingerly off the bed. He returns with a washcloth and cleans them both up.

Dean yawns. “We have to get up pretty early tomorrow, uh, later this morning.” He hesitates for a second, “You want me to sleep in the other bed?” He doesn’t have to wait long for an answer.

“Nope,” says Cas and pulls him into his arms.

 

************

Dean doesn’t remember setting an alarm on his phone, but it when it goes off, it takes him a minute to realize why he can’t reach it. He can’t roll over because there’s someone lying on his chest. Also, it feels like a gorilla is hitting him in the head with a sledge hammer. Slowly the events of the night come back to him. _Right. Cheating death. Snacks for dinner. Way too much booze. Flirting. Sex._ He manages to move Cas off him and turns off the alarm. He shakes Cas gently.

“Cas. Cas, wake up.” Cas groans and rolls over, burying his head under the pillow. “Hey, it’s six. I’m heading to the airport. Gonna pick up a rental and drive the rest of the way. I can still make my presentation at the conference. Do you, uh,’ he pauses, “do you want to drive with me?”

Cas sits up and the look he gives Dean is not a happy one.

“Can’t. I have my cameras and equipment in checked baggage. They’re gonna put them on the new plane. I have to fly.”

Dean is surprised at how dejected he feels. His face must show it. Cas smiles up at him. “Hey, it’s OK. You go do what you need to do.”

“Cas...”

“No. You don’t need to say anything. Last night was...” he pauses, searching for a word.

“Fun? Awful? A mistake?” Instead of meeting Cas's eyes, Dean busies himself with the lid of an Advil bottle. “Best sex you’ve had in months?”

“I was going to go with ‘entertaining’ with a side of ‘amazing.’”

Dean blushes again. _Christ, he has to stop doing that_. He tosses two pills back with some water and winces at the sudden head movement. Cas regards him from the bed.

“I like you, Dean. I enjoyed our time together.”

“I’m just gonna…” Dean gestures at the bathroom and grabs some clothes and toiletries before heading in there, aware of Cas’s eyes on his bare ass. Ten minutes later, he’s out, dressed, and towelling off his hair.

Dressed only in boxers, Cas is on the phone. He puts his hand over the receiver and tells Dean that the new flight is scheduled for 12:30. With his presentation at 2:45, Dean’s anxious to get on the road so while Cas finishes his call, Dean writes his cell number on the back of one of his business cards and puts it on the bed next to Cas’s carry-on. Cas hangs up.

“Well,” Dean says, hefting his carry-on strap over his shoulder, “Isn’t this awkward.”

“Only if you make it awkward.” Cas grins and moves into Dean’s space. “Hey. that was the best flight I was ever on.” He kisses Dean lightly.

“Huh, me too.” Dean’s surprised to realize it’s true. “Well except for the whole emergency landing part. The aftermath was pretty awesome though.” He grabs his phone off the bedside table and puts it in his pocket. “I wrote my number on that card if you ever want to…” Dean trails off, “I’m sorry, I really have to go.”

“I know. Safe drive. I’ll text you later.”

Dean closes the door of their room behind him and leans against it for a second before shaking his head and walking to the elevator.

Dean takes a hotel shuttle to the airport, rents a way-too-bright blue car, and by seven he’s heading down the I-40 towards Gallup and the Arizona border. The drive is beautiful, but he doesn’t notice, paying just enough attention to make his exit at Holbrook and head south through the Tonto National Forest. His mind is busy with thoughts of Cas and their time together. It’s not like he’s never done the one-night-stand thing before, but he’s always been able to walk away whistling. This time it’s different. He can’t dismiss it so easily. He’s trying to concentrate on the road, but visions of blue eyes and a crooked smile keep distracting him. Before he knows it, nearly six and a half hours have passed and he’s driving through Phoenix.

He signals and pulls into the exit lane for the Phoenix Airport Marriott, his thoughts still on the night before. Maybe Cas was right and it was nothing more than the universe making up for scaring the crap out of him on the plane. Just because he feels something more doesn’t mean that Cas does. He didn’t try to stop Dean from leaving. He hasn’t texted. Dean rolls his shoulders to release some of the tension gripping his muscles. He needs to focus on his conference presentation, on what he’s going to do now. _Concentrate, Winchester_.

A plane comes in for landing over the road Dean’s driving on. He resolutely does not think about whether it could be Cas’s plane. The timing is right. He looks at his watch, calculating. He still has an hour to get to his room in the hotel, dump his luggage and make his way down to the conference room. An hour to do what he was planning on doing. An hour to have his life continue on its present trajectory. Or, perhaps, an hour to change course, to do something unexpected. To tempt fate. He makes up his mind.

He parks the car and walks swiftly towards the building, stopping to let a couple pulling suitcases and a woman in a wheelchair go through the automatic doors ahead of him. He crosses the wide area in front of the desk, and follows the signs down corridors to what he’s seeking.

A crowd of people are milling around the baggage carousel that’s marked with their old flight number. What if this is a mistake? He knows how he feels, that he thinks this could be something more than one night, something good. But he has no way of knowing if Cas feels the same way. Maybe this is stupid. Just because he’s willing to concede that meeting Cas was fate doesn’t mean that Cas is going to be OK with this.

Then Dean sees him, standing with his carry-on at his feet, frowning at something he’s reading in his paperback. Dean’s heart is beating fast he approaches. Cas looks up, his eyes widen and then a slow lazy smile breaks over his face. Dean feels almost weak with relief.

“Hello, Dean.”

“Hey Cas.”

Cas marks his place in his book with the business card Dean had left him in the hotel, and looks up at him. “What’re the odds that you’d show up to meet this flight?”

“Well,” Dean says, with an answering smile, “The universe is funny that way. Sometimes you just are where you need to be.”

**Author's Note:**

> December 2015 I was flying from Toronto to Phoenix with my kids and our plane was diverted to Albuquerque because of a cabin-pressure issue. While we were waiting in line to be assigned a hotel and the pilot announced that single passengers had to double up, I saw two good-looking guys decide to share a room. And a plot bunny was born. :)


End file.
